


Eriksonian Stages

by reminiscence



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, Gen, ffn challenge: 1501-2500 words, ffn challenge: another mega prompts challenge, ffn challenge: the most in a month competition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2018-11-15 10:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11228763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reminiscence/pseuds/reminiscence
Summary: Childhood is a crucial part of later development. When the childhood is pathological... Well, we already know the result.





	1. mistrust

There's little difference between the orphanage and the wilds. They're still battling each other for resources. They're still battling each other to survive.

Tattling is the norm. Stealing and cowering their fellow orphans is the norm. Anything to get a little more to eat, or a little more time in the bath, or the slightly newer clothes or slightly more comfortable bed. Anything to get first dibs at the chores. Anything to get first dibs at the jobs once they're old enough to work.

He learns. Quickly, too quickly, he learns. And he learns he has an edge they don't.

In the orphanage - in the wild - they use every edge they can get their hands on. Because the only ones they can trust to give them the best are themselves. Because no-one loves them enough to just give. They have to earn it. They have to take it. They have to fight like their life's a battlefield…

And they say that the ones who don't grow up on love will never understand.

Someone who doesn't take advantage of everything around them can't push past the crowd and stand on top.

And at the top, he can safely keep on living.

 


	2. shame and doubt

There’s little difference between the well-behaved and the hellions, because fault was always found in them. If they smiled, they were called out on sneers and scorn. If they frowned, then it was ungratefulness they showed. If they cried, it was weakness. If they laughed, it was scorn again, or an annoyance.

He tries to keep his face blank because that’s easiest. That way the adults don’t say too much, because there’s no expression to comment on. The kids comment, though. They’re scared. Or jealous. Because they don’t learn as fast, and some of the welts and bruises scar but his skin is still pristine.

They’re blind. They’re all blind. Scars lurk underneath for all of them, and so do his emotions. He’s not a display doll for them, after all. The adults don’t even like him. He’s only more tolerable than the others.

They do scorn him; that’s a truth, not just what adults say. They scorn him because he escapes what traps they find themselves entangled in, time and again.

They don’t realise it’s about the control. They don’t realise it’s about escaping that control, escaping their harsh criticism. It’s not about not feeling. He doesn’t not feel.


	3. guilt

When things happen, they blame him.

It’s picked up speed. At first, it was just the other kids. But then the adults began doing it too. It suited them, after all, to be able to scold him in the same manner as they scolded the other children. He’d escaped them too long. This was his punishment.

When things happen, they blame him. He becomes the convenient scapegoat and he knows it’s partially his fault because he showed his strength, and in doing that he showed his weakness.

But he doesn’t want to have to hide forever, like he’s something to be ashamed of, a skeleton to be shoved into the closet.

He may as well be the skeleton of the orphanage, with the rap list to his name.

It’s not always his fault. Only sometimes, and some of those things he wonders if any of them could do it to blame on him.

But then he learns. He can do things, far more things, than the other children. Even the other adults.

And he doesn’t feel guilty doing them, because they blame him anyway. He’s just giving them things to blame him with.

He’s just writing his script for himself.


	4. inferiority

Being special is never a good thing. It only earns him more punishment and keeping his face blank throughout it all is perhaps the only thing that saves him from more.

So he hides his talents, too. Does it so, eventually, the kids blame a ghost instead of him.

That doesn’t stop the adults, though. They’re too old and set in their ways to blame intangible things like ghosts. “That boy, Tom Riddle” they say, like it’s the answer to life’s problems.

Sometimes, he wonders what it would be like to hold that sort of power over the world.

But that’s far off. He controls such a small part of the board and his control is far too tremulous and tedious both. He’s still not safe. He hasn’t mastered this board where he can live without being dictated by others and, probably, he won’t for a while yet.

At eighteen, he’ll leave the orphanage. At eighteen, he’ll be free and he’s working towards setting things up for that day.

He practices: these odd talents of his that are both blessings and a curse. He studies hard with the meagre resources until the teachers give him more.

It doesn’t matter why.


	5. role confusion

He doesn’t wind up escaping at eighteen. He escapes at eleven, when he realises there’s a whole other world out there and he’s not as special as he thinks.

It’s a different world, with different rules, but some things are the same. Adults still run the show. Kids still strive to have the least punishment – but now, another two concepts have been introduced. Because there are rewards as well. And rewards are bigger and better when it’s a team effort.

There are four Houses, and if the House wins, they get far more benefit than a single individual. And most individual achievements go towards the House. It’s a silly system, he thinks at first, until he realises how he can use it.

By earning for his House, he increases their dependence on him.

And the more results he produces, the more he can make use of the House’s resources. And the teachers love him. More resources.

It’s just school, but he thinks he can conquer it in seven years.

Rewriting the world seems possible.

But he can’t. Seven years isn’t enough when he’s still a child in the eyes of adults, even if he controls the rest of the board.


	6. isolation

He can’t sway that fool. It’s like they’re the last two pieces on the board, chasing each other endlessly. So he backs away. He doesn’t take his pawns. He’ll find a way to conquer this logical puzzle before he returns.

It’s difficult, but also enlightening. Because he learns so many things about humans and they’re all the more pitiful. Stubborn fools. Grandiose fools. Pitiful fools.

They’re all fools, and he witnesses them all.

And he witnesses time as well. Time that makes people who’d been young appear old and wrinkled and at the end of frayed ropes. People who’ve run out of time chasing dreams they never quite grasped.

Fools who’d wasted their lives chasing the unattainable.

And if he couldn’t conquer his school in seven years…

He’s heading that way. And right now, he’s heading that way too.

It’s all valuable, but it’s also a marker of his own mortality, his own ineptness.

That is why he has his pawns in waiting. And also, something to circumvent his impending sand-timer.

People really are fools if they have immortality at their disposal and then lament their impending doom.

He won’t be such a fool. Immortality will give him the world.


	7. stagnation

His rise is quick, but then things screech to a halt.

That logical fallacy that is Albus Dumbledore remains uncracked. And until he falls, he won’t have absolute control of the board.

Because who can wholly control a board with two kings. Even a stalemate can eventually crack. But a checkmate is absolute. Crush the king and it wouldn’t get up until the next time.

The only time there’ll be a next game is if he’s board.

Still, the other side is short on pieces. The only logical conclusion is his victory but masters have been known to pull the game around and one thing Dumbledore has is experience.

He is still a child who can’t seem to shake the adults, even now. It’s frustrating. It’s unfair.

It only makes him more determined to escape this twisted system of theirs.

And he’ll do it. They trade blows on uneven ground and Dumbledore’s being pushed back. And chess isn’t a pendulous match. Each blow makes it harder for him to keep pushing. Eventually, the spokes will break and that’ll be the end.

It can’t come soon enough. He’s so tired of this impasse.

He’s only safe in control at the top.


	8. despair

A child defeats him.

He doesn’t understand, even twelve years later. A magic child, loved by the world and not understanding at all what they’ve got in their grasp.

At that age, he’d already been fighting for his life. In terms of experiences, he’s light years away from this child.

And yet this child wins. And he couldn’t even defeat one old man.

He doesn’t understand at all. How could he lose the world he’d fought so hard to obtain, to a child who’s not fighting at all?

His only condolence is that, maybe, this child will grow up to understand what it was like for him. He’s an orphan now, too. His parents are dead on the floor. He’ll go off somewhere, to an orphanage or to people who aren’t his parents and he’ll learn what it’s like to be hated. Or he’ll be the famous child who defeated a Dark Lord and learn what it’s like to be revered and feared from afar, and all alone inside.

He’ll learn. He’ll learn. He’ll learn and he’ll become.

He’s just a product of this world.

And he’s still here. And he’ll fight for a world of his own once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the
> 
> Another Mega Prompts Challenge, writing prompts #56 - collection containing fics of exactly 200 words  
> The Most in a Month Competition


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